by Kim Turrisi
Yeah.
That.
Progress.
* * *
Cass and I are the last to arrive for group. I scan the circle for Graham, and his smile takes my breath away, inviting me to throw caution to the wind. I head right for him, purposely brushing against his knee as I sit down. If anyone suspects anything’s going on between us, they aren’t letting on.
“Ping-Pong later?” Jack offers before we start. Like an incentive to get through this.
I glance at my boy to see if he wants to go. That’s when Jack snickers, nailing me. The warmth rushes to my cheeks, making me full-on blush.
Marco breaks in. “When you are grieving, it’s easy to get caught up in all the things you’ve lost. I want you all to visualize some things that you are thankful for. To remind you of hope. The first thing that pops in your mind. Kai, why don’t you start?”
I don’t even mind going first. “The way I feel today.” I tilt my head and look sideways at Graham. “I didn’t hate waking up.”
My group needs no prompting, everyone follows suit.
“Kai,” Graham says so matter-of-factly that my jaw drops open.
Jack elbows him. “Dude. So awesome.”
Ben picks it up. “I’m thankful that my uncle brought me here and that he’s fighting to keep me and Cory with him. I really hope he can make it happen.”
After all this, Ben could get stuck in the middle of a custody battle. I can’t even imagine.
Jack continues. “Thankful for my mom. There’s not much left of my family, but she’s the glue holding us together,” he says. He nudges Cass. “Your turn.”
With certainty, Cass answers, “All of this that we’ve been doing. I’m figuring out how to deal.”
“I told you all of this would help you. If you’d trusted me on the first day, it would’ve saved you so much time stressing out,” Marco teases.
People start laughing, of course.
I need to say something else that’s on my mind. “I do feel guilty for not being consumed with Jen’s death today,” I say. “Like I’m betraying her memory somehow. But today, it doesn’t hurt to breathe. I’m content.”
“Kai, it’s not betrayal to allow happiness back into your life. All your loved ones would want you to feel that again,” Marco says.
“Do you really believe I’ll be able to feel that?” Ben asks.
“With everything I have, buddy. You will never forget what happened but it will become part of your everyday landscape. Your parents will always be a part of you, but you will not always be in pain,” Marco stresses.
“Being here, talking about it, has been a game changer for me,” admits Jack. “I didn’t want to burden my mom with how much I was hurting. Jeez, she lost her husband. I felt like I should man up but I couldn’t.”
“Men hurt. Men cry,” Marco reassures him.
I see a noticeable relief on the faces of all three guys. It never occurred to me that the weight of the whole real-men-don’t-cry notion would be so heavy.
I like the way this freestyle morning is shaping up, so I make an effort to keep the conversation going. “It’s so bizarre. I have two best friends at home but I couldn’t talk to them about what I was going through the way I’ve been able to do with you guys.”
Marco nods. “Again, totally normal. Your friends want to be there for you but they have no frame of reference for all the things you are experiencing.”
“Do you stay in contact with anyone from your group?” asks Graham. My stake in this answer is fairly high so I’m dialed into Marco’s response.
“Every single one,” he says.
I’m not gonna lie, those three words are a relief.
Then he starts our activity. “When you first came here, our group sessions revolved around your grief. Today, I want you to share thoughts of happiness about your loved one. Start to associate feel-good moments with them, not the pain of your loss.”
I like this already. We each gather the photos we brought from home, just like the list instructed us to do, for this exercise. Opening my journal, I remove a few photos. Graham puts his hand in his back pocket and produces a dog-eared, worn picture, even though his most prized remembrance is neatly tucked over his head. Ben struggles with the sealed envelope he brought and Cass rustles around in a recyclable bag.
“I’d like to go first,” she volunteers. Cass empties the contents of the bag in front of her.
I see happy.
I see hopeful.
“They aren’t homemade but they are cookies. From the vending machine. I cleaned them out. And this is my grandma,” she says, passing the picture around the circle for us to meet her. “It’s from last Christmas, when we were baking cookies. I think it’s time to have my first cookie since she died. With all of you.”
Her eyes fill as she passes out yellow-and-blue bags of Famous Amos chocolate-chip cookies. Ceremoniously, she opens her bag and pops an entire cookie into her mouth. Then another. With each bite, I hope her pain fades away.
Jack hems and haws before he reveals a medal with a picture. I get to hold them first. His father looks so proud in the photo, in full-dress uniform.
Jack says, “This is my father’s Purple Heart. You get one if you’re wounded or killed in combat, and the soldiers who came to the funeral presented it to my mom. She gave it to me before I came here so I’d have my dad’s courage with me. He was a hero.”
Even Marco is unable to remain stoic. A teardrop slips down his cheek and he doesn’t even bother to wipe it away. I really do like him.
I hand over a picture of my sister and me in Hawaii when I was about nine months old. I’m holding a red plastic shovel in one hand, a blue Otter Pop in the other, perched on top of her belly while she’s sunbathing on an oversize beach towel in the backyard, slathered in sunscreen. I can almost smell the coconut.
As the photograph makes its way around the circle, I explain, “I was born in Honolulu. I guess I hated the grass and sand. I mean, I went full-on freak-out if a blade even grazed my feet. According to my family. I don’t know why they’d lie about that. Anyway, Jen would let me sit on her so I didn’t have to touch the grass. She always had my back.”
Graham glides his hand into mine and squeezes it knowingly.
Ben unhooks the clasp on a manila envelope, digging out an eight-by-ten photo and turning it around for the group to see. It’s his whole family in Hawaiian shirts, sporting sunburns and grins. I mean, these shirts are the kind that you make fun of when you see anyone wearing them, especially a whole family.
“Spring break. My dad surprised all of us with a trip to the Big Island. It was my mom’s fortieth birthday. He wrapped the plane tickets inside a beach bag filled with everything she would need at the beach. She was so shocked she couldn’t stop crying. My dad really never did stuff like that. They were supposed to go to Hawaii for their honeymoon, but my grandpa got sick so they had to postpone it. Then they had my brother and me so it got back-burnered. Dad swore he would never be one of those guys who made his kids wear matching shirts, ever.” Ben busts up laughing.
“One afternoon my mom snuck down to the hotel gift store when we were surfing and bought us these.” He points to the shirts. “A guy at the beach club took our picture. My dad thought it was pretty funny.”
“You’ll always have that memory,” I say, channeling my father.
Graham unfolds the picture in his hand. “This is Justin and me the day he died.”
They’re decked out in their crimson-and-light-blue West Hill Academy lacrosse uniforms, looking ruggedly handsome. Justin is totally owning the Neff beanie that’s currently fixed on the head of the boy who has stolen my heart. Justin is cracking up at whatever Graham has just said.
“We won the game and I was teasing him about his beanie. He loved this thing. He thought it got him girls. Maybe it d
id, but I doubt it. He did that just by being him. Everyone loved him, and so did I.”
I return the squeeze, hoping it gives him the same relief. With my free hand, I wipe the tear that snuck out of his eye.
Marco claps his hands together. “It’s a gorgeous day. The afternoon is all yours, folks. Art therapy after dinner.”
“Circle up,” Cass says.
I’m going to long for this hand hug when I get home.
* * *
Graham sends a group text after we all part ways.
Meet at the sandpit in ten.
Sounds so undercover. Cass and I show up and find Graham and Jack tossing a football around.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“We thought we’d play a little touch football. You know, teach Ben some ball skills,” Graham says.
I shared my conversation with Ben with Graham. And he remembered. This guy.
When Ben arrives, he looks like he’s been through the ringer.
“Hey, buddy. How about some touch football? I’ll teach you all my moves,” Jack offers.
Ben’s eyes widen. “You know I’m not really much of a sports guy.”
“I’m gonna make you one.” Jack’s easy smile does the trick.
“Keep your eye on the ball when I release it. Let it come to you.”
The three of us pay close attention. Ben drops the first pass. He hangs his head a little, but that doesn’t disguise his disappointment.
“No worries, you’ll get the hang of it,” Graham says, bending next to him. “Okay. Put your fingers on the laces.” Graham positions the ball in Ben’s hand. “Bring your arm back and up.” Graham moves Ben’s arm, teaching him the throwing motion.
“Show me what you’ve got.” Ben lets the ball fly. It’s not exactly the most accurate pass but Jack catches it, ensuring Ben’s success.
“Yes!” Ben thrusts his fist in the air. He even smiles.
“All right, let’s do this. I take Ben. You three defend,” Jack calls out.
Graham huddles us up while Jack kneels down to show Ben how to get into a three-point stance and hike him the ball.
“Whatever you do, do not tackle him. Let him catch the ball,” Graham whispers to the rest of us.
I couldn’t fall any harder for this guy. But this can’t be happening right now ... it’s all wrong ... I could really use Jen to bounce this one off.
“He needs this way more than we do,” he emphasizes.
If what I’m feeling is wrong, I don’t want to be right.
Jack yells, “The end of the pit’s a touchdown. Okay?”
We nod and line up. Graham hangs back to defend the goal. “You two rush the quarterback,” he says, totally cracking up.
I point to Jack. “Coming for you.” That grin he flashes is an unfair advantage.
From the shotgun position a few steps behind Ben, he yells, “Bring it. Hut, hut.” Ben hikes the ball. It’s a little wonky but Jack’s skills easily keep the ball in play. Cass and I chase Jack in the backfield. He scrambles around like the pro he is.
“You’ll never get to me,” he teases, managing to dodge us. I’m totally trying to get to him, but the guy has mad foot skills. Jack signals Ben with his free hand.
Graham moves from side to side around Ben, tapping him, acting like he’s all over him.
But Ben breaks free and Graham slows so he’s at least two steps behind him. Ben runs closer to us, and Jack dumps the ball off lightly right into Ben’s gut.
“Close your arms in, tuck the ball,” Jack cheers him on. Ben takes off. Almost at the end of the pit, Graham touches him. Can’t make it look like a gimme.
Jack rushes up to high-five Ben, and Graham fist-bumps him. “Nice fake, you got me.”
I wish I could bottle the look on Ben’s face. Pure bliss.
“Not gonna happen again,” Graham promises as he walks away. Ben can’t see the wide smile on my boy’s face.
Ben joins in the smack talk. “We’ll see. Let’s get it, Jack.”
Jack puts his hands on Ben’s shoulders, telling him the next play in a hushed tone. Then he jukes back and forth in front of Cass and me. “You might catch me. Not.”
This time, Jack lines up right under center. “Hut.” Ben takes off as soon as the ball is in Jack’s hand. Cass and I dive into Jack but not before he releases the ball. Please let Ben score, I think. He needs this.
Ben follows the ball with his eyes just like Jack instructed. It’s like watching it in slow-motion. That’s how it feels from here.
“Get under it!” Jack yells.
I hold my breath when Ben bobbles the ball. All Graham has to do is reach in and bat the ball down. He doesn’t. Ben keeps possession, crossing the invisible goal line.
He lights up. An air of confidence encircles him. Maybe the goal line is a metaphor for his life.
Whoa.
Chapter 21
This morning after group Marco gives us a writing exercise to finish by tomorrow. Yeah, this one sucker-punches me. We have to write a letter to our loved one.
When he says those words, they elicit a few Oh my fucking Gods, with a side of nervous twitching from everyone in the group, especially me.
“The idea is for you to say what you didn’t get a chance to say to them before they died,” he says.
“Do we have to read them out loud?” I squeak, dying inside.
Thank you, Grief Gods. His answer is no.
Before dinner, Cass and I huddle on our beds. She has already filled an entire page of her notepad. I’m still staring at mine. All I’ve got is Dear Jen. I want to finish before Graham comes by, because we’re in that make-the-most-of-every-second mode with the end-of-camp date creeping up on us. The thought of leaving him — and here — in a week is making me sick to my stomach. Just when we’ve found security here, it’s almost time to go.
“The sucky thing is by leaving here, I lose Graham. Saying it out loud makes it even worse than thinking it. It reminds me of one of the prayer cards we saw at the funeral home. ‘The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.’ The Lord is unfaireth, if you ask me.”
She laughs, though I’m really not joking.
“Oh, please. I see the way he looks at you. You two have a special connection.”
“The losing-a-sibling connection,” I reply, fending off the tears. After the other shit I’ve been through, I can’t believe I’m crying, but there it is.
“It’s way more than that. You can’t deny that it’s the thread tying it all together but that’s okay. There’s common ground whenever you care about someone.”
“True.” One word but it means a lot to me.
“He isn’t going to allow a little distance to keep you guys apart. It’s not like he’s in New Jersey.” Cass keeps the positive flying at me.
“It’s not like he’s in Fort Lauderdale, either. I can’t stop thinking about all the girls at his school,” I say, knowing the boyfriend of my dreams will be over an hour north of me in West Palm Beach.
“You guys will find a way. And, none of those girls are you.”
I contemplate that while I peruse all the photos in my phone. There are hundreds. I’ve been documenting every moment since our first kiss. Graham giving me a piggyback ride through the woods. The two of us biting an ice-cream cone at the same time — what a mess that was. A selfie at sunset by the lake, my head resting on his shoulder. We’re cute together. Really, we are. I come across a video Jack took of us spinning on the tire swing. I hear Graham laughing and me screaming. I play that a few times. His laugh is infectious. I cannot get enough of it, especially after the dark times with no laughter at all.
Okay, I even have screenshots of our late-night texts. Reading them invites all the happiness in and I let it. I scroll to a thread he started one midnight last week.
Wish y
ou were next to me.
We could build a blanket fort.
And never come out.
I would love that. xo
All the x’s and o’s back.
He signed off with:
You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
Just rereading that gives me chills.
I don’t want to forget a single second. My heart has been on ice for way too long.
I select a picture of the two of us with our arms wound tightly around each other, with me wearing his beanie. Our faces say it all. Love. Joy. Life. I group text the picture to TJ and Emily.
So, this is happening. Xo
I smile at the picture and wish I could send it to Jen as well. I do the next best thing. I send it to my mom.
I met someone pretty great. I can’t wait for you to meet him.
Then I finally start this thing that Marco is twisting my arm to write. I lift my white letter-size pad, a black fine-tip pen in hand, and start to compose a letter to my sister. I’m überconscious of the shape of each letter I write. Careful not to be sloppy with my handwriting or my words — Jen would hate that.
It all matters.
Dear Jen,
I miss you so much. I keep hoping to see you when I walk into a room, around every corner, anywhere. But I don’t. Then the hurt rushes back, not releasing me.
When you died, I wanted to die with you. I hated being left behind. Does that make sense? It was always you and me. All of a sudden there was just me and that wasn’t enough.
So much has happened. Mom and Dad sent me to grief camp. I’m here now. I fought it at first but honestly I was a mess — a red-hot one, as you loved to say — spiraling so far out of control that I figured, why not? You told me to trust Mom, so I did. Turns out it was a good call.
At home, no one was talking about it ... I know: SURPRISE. I needed to talk about it more than I realized. All the kids here understand what I’m going through. Well, they don’t get the suicide thing but they identify with the devastating loss. I’m heartbroken yet so furious with you, and it’s a constant battle. You’re gone. You did this to me. And I’m fucking mad, really fucking mad.
